Like Water for Chocolate
by Dee12
Summary: Logan tastes like chocolate.


_**Title: **Like Water for Chocolate_

_**Author: **Desire_

_**Rating:** PG-13_

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own them, but I know who does and I'm not telling._

_**Summary:** Logan tastes like chocolate._

_**Spoilers/Warning: **Through 1x22 "Leave it to Beaver"_

**Author's Note: **_Okay, so I've been bitten by the fluff bug. No deep character exploration or high drama and beautiful fucked up angst. This one's just a collection of scenes involving Logan and Veronica, and several comfort foods cause I for one, need a little less drama in my life. _

* * *

**_Like Water for Chocolate _**

400ml heavy cream  
100 g unsweetened chocolate squares  
50 ml coffee  
2 tablespoons sugar  
4 tablespoons cognac

Win or lose, you were guaranteed two scoops of ice cream of your choice; it was the one and only perk to being on the team sponsored by the Coldstone Creamery.

This little stroking of the fragile twelve year old ego assured she would never be disappointed, even after a particularly brutal game, such as the one against the Pizza Hut Bombers that day. A, 7 to 1 loss… either those girls had hit a growth spurt or their coach started substituting the pepperoni and mushrooms for steroids and miracle grow.

Despite her team's hard loss and the painful skinned knee she received while sliding across the grassy field to knock the ball away from number twenty-one, Veronica Mars managed to chirp brightly at the pimply-faced teenager behind the counter,

"Two scoops chocolate in a cup, please."

Her standard order. It never failed. Veronica was tried and true – she knew what she liked and she didn't care if her teammates teased her for being just a bit on the boring side. But on this Saturday, she was feeling oddly bold. Maybe she would ask Effie and Caitlin to let her out of the booth so she could go and ask for a few rainbow sprinkles…

And it was while she was in the middle of contemplating whether or not she absolutely needed sprinkles, that the excited whispers began. Veronica barely noticed, stirred her ice cream into a soup and only bothered to look up when Effie cupped her hand over her ear.

"_Oh my god, Aaron Echolls is sitting two booths behind us!_"

Naturally, Veronica turned around to get a peek.

"God, V, don't be so obvious!"

_"…He's so hot…"_

"…Beyond the Breaking Point is my all time favorite movie…"

"…That's his son…"

"…Heard they were moving to Neptune…he's our age…"

This time, Veronica, maneuvered her tiny frame in the booth putting herself up against the window allowing a full view of the back of the head of the second highest paid actor in Hollywood (just shy of Tom Cruise a measly five million).

Effie and Melissa were debating whether or not to go over and ask him to autograph the back of their jersies and Veronica locked eyes with Aaron Echolls' shaggy haired son.

Darker than the chocolate that filled the cup in her hands. Penetrating. Intrusive. Mischievous. Older than his years but lacking wisdom. She could feel those eyes studying her – from the tangled, golden mess that was her pony-tail, to the dirt smudges on her cheeks and drop of ice cream in the corner of her pink lips.

His mouth turned upward into something akin to a smile that emphasized his pudgy cheeks and sweet, little Veronica Mars, who was feeling oddly bold that day, gave the boy with the chocolate eyes a good view of her middle finger.

1 1/2 cups Sugar  
1 cup Shortening -- soft  
2 each Eggs  
2 3/4 cups Flour  
2 teaspoons Cream of tartar  
1 teaspoon Baking soda  
1/2 teaspoon Salt  
2 tablespoons Sugar  
2 teaspoons Cinnamon

It was an accident that Logan discovered her penchant for making snickerdoodles.

Uncharacteristically early to school one morning, he caught Veronica working the combination to Wallace's locker – suspicous green and yellow spirit box at her feet. Logan Echolls had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially a horse that was presenting him with a prime opportunity for dickhead-ish behavior.

Leaned in close to her, the smile on his face would've been purely charming if it weren't for the insults spilling from those same lips.

"Sharpening your breaking and entering skills I see."

She didn't miss a beat. "Well, Logan, we all don't have that fabulous career as a trust fund baby who's in and out of rehab to look forward to like you do."

Distracted her long enough to ease the box away with the heel of his Puma, "Gosh, Veronica, that one cut me deep."

"Don't you have anyone else to grace with your nonexistent charms this morning?"

"And make you feel any less special?" he said in a syurpy tone as he scooped the box up off the floor. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Noticing Wallace's snickerdoodles in the grubby, pampered mitts of Logan was the beginning of a childish dance between the two that took full advantage of the empty hallways.

Curses were uttered, sneakers squeaked loudly as they skidded over the waxed floors. Logan used his height advantage to lord the shoebox over her,

"I'm _not_ jumping." Veronica's voice was clipped.

"I'm heartbroken." Logan's eyes moved directly to her breasts.

"Congratulations, Logan," she began, lunging toward him, "you're officially the front runner for biggest pile of stunted growth of the year."

There's a moment when Veronica suspected he might be enjoying this game beyond the normal level of sadism she'd come to expect from him. A glint in those dark eyes of his that held a glimpse of something more – absurdly friendly and maybe…_flirtatious_?

There's an exasperated groan and she came damn close to punching him in his smug face when he took a huge bite out of one of the cookies.

With a grin, Logan dropped the half-eaten snickerdoodle back onto the brightly colored tissue paper and tossed the shoebox into Veronica's waiting arms. "Not bad, Iron Chef. But, I prefer chocolate chip."

1 cup butter, softened  
1/2 cup sugar  
1 cup dark brown sugar  
2 eggs  
2 teaspoons vanilla  
2 1/2 cups flour  
1/2 teaspoon baking soda  
1/2 teaspoon salt  
2 cups chocolate chips

Lynn Echolls' wake was the cruelest of cosmic jokes. Shallowness personified filled the mansion, sipping on champagne and nibbling pate in between the insincere emotional discussions of Lynn's tragic final day and charmed, privileged life.

Then, there were the fans – the sad wastes of human cells who had nothing better to do than stand outside the gates of the Echolls' home in full funeral garb, releasing doves and singing _Candle in the Wind_.

Put all of that ontop of Aaron's crocodile tears,

"Logan – Logan, c'mere son. You tell this story so much better than I do; tell everyone about the time we went to the zoo for your birthday and we told your mother we were all going to dress up as our favorite animal…"

and Logan couldn't decide if he wanted to scream or throw up.

His father slung his arm over his shoulder, gave him a light squeeze in a pitiful attempt to be comforting. To show any trace of human emotion that wasn't requested by a director, and Logan wondered if maybe the tear-stains of a 'crushed' widower on Aaron's cheeks were the product of a bottle of clear-eyes drops.

"Gee, I dunno, dad; I think you're much better suited to tell this story than I am. What, with your ability to cry on cue and all."

He made a grand exit, swiping a glass of wine from the hands of his mother's former agent and an entire tray of watercress sandwiches off of a nearby table,

"C'mon people! What's with the sour-pusses? It's not like this is a funeral!"

And left his father the daunting task of explaining away his son's behavior as the byproduct of overwhelming grief.

The second Logan Echolls flopped down onto his bed, he burst into laughter. The kind of side-splitting guffaws that resulted in an aching stomach, that put a deep crimson tint to his otherwise creamy white face, that made him feel like it would take hours to regain the ability to breathe.

His mother was far more intelligent than anyone had ever bothered to give her credit for. She'd broken free from this hell and he knew without a doubt, that she was out there somewhere killing herself laughing over this shit.

Just as he was.

Logan reached back for the sandwich tray and hit the corner of his hand on a tiny box. Hadn't noticed it resting comfortably in the middle of the bedspread. Tin with a simple red ribbon tied around it and no card.

He carefully untied it and smiled in spite of himself when he removed the one cookie from the bunch with a mysterious chunk bitten out of it:

"Chocolate chip."

1 ¼ cups flour  
¼ teaspoon baking soda  
1 ½ cups sugar  
1/3 cups margarine  
¼ cup buttermilk  
¼ cup cocoa  
2 eggs  
2 teaspoons vanilla

It's strange how _not_ strange the transition from friend, to sworn arch-enemy, to tolerable acquaintance, to oh-so-secret boyfriend was. In the back of her mind, Veronica expected the sort of awkward, laughable melodrama that was only found in movies and tv shows with Chad Michael Murray in the cast.

Yet, there she and Logan were, spending a lazy Saturday afternoon attempting to make super fudgey brownies while Aaron was out at spinning class.

"You wanna gimme a hand there, sparky?"

"Sparky? Did I miss something? Are we at the irritating cutesy pet name stage now, schnooky puss?"

Blue eyes rolled heavenward. "How long have you been waiting for the opportunity to use that?"

"Since Tuesday, my silly woobie bear," Logan said in a baby voice. "I got a million of 'em."

"How keen," was her dry reply. "Here," Veronica shoved the mixer into his hands, "make yourself useful."

Maybe there was something inherently sexy about watching a guy who was completely and utterly kitchen-retarded actually ignore your screams and switch on the mixer before putting it into the batter. Or, perhaps being covered in fudge brownie mix from head to toe, did something to the senses, like a more expensive spanish fly. Whatever the reason, Veronica Mars ended up pressed against the stainless steel refrigerator in the Echolls' immaculate kitchen with Logan's mouth expertly ridding any stray splashes of fudge from the delicate skin of her neck.

"I do love the way you bake."

His voice was as smooth as butter and it sent a delightful shiver down her spine that quaked throughout her body and left through the tips of her toes.

She smiled against his lips. "It's a gift."

The tip of her pink tongue darted out to touch his bottom lip; the faint hint of vodka it found, said he'd been in his father's liquor cabinet before she'd come over. And when Logan's lips parted and she could properly probe his mouth, she discovered a heavenly mix of alcohol and fudge from their brownie disaster.

It made Logan taste a bit like a rum and chocolate candy.

1 cup butter, softened  
1/2 cup sugar  
1 cup dark brown sugar  
2 eggs  
2 teaspoons vanilla  
2 1/2 cups flour  
1/2 teaspoon baking soda  
1/2 teaspoon salt  
2 cups chocolate chips

On the day Aaron Echolls was arraigned for the murder of Lilly Kane, Logan Echolls – well known one time lap-dog of Lilly's, and unfortunate biological son of Aaron, left town without a word. Destination unknown.

How he managed to pull that off was almost as big of a mystery as his whereabouts.

The very second the star of such gems as Pursuit of Happiness found a pair of handcuffs adorning his wrists, paparazzi and various news crews from around the world descended on Neptune like vultures on the carcass of a dead animal. And the reluctant players in this tragic story found their not-so simple lives even more complicated.

Veronica could be seen walking Backup on the cover of _People_.

Wallace kept a record of the 'exclusive story' offers he received on a weekly basis.

Duncan, found himself facing assault charges due to his fist colliding with the face of a photog with an aggressive need for pictures and a nasty mouth.

Dreamworks was optioning _The Lilly Kane Story_ for the big screen and Lindsey Lohan was rumored to be playing the beautiful dead girl. But first, they had to suffer through the glut of made-for-tv movies.

"_You've reached Logan and here's today's inspirational message: Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it – Mark Twain. Leave a message_."

:_Beep_:

She's called him once a week for the past two months. He never picked up; she always got the standard five rings before that ridiculous voicemail of his kicked in to inspire her with clever anecdotes from the likes of George Washington, Martin Luther King, Langston Hughes, and now…Mark Twain.

Veronica knew she was more than likely a step above his father on the totem pole of people Logan wanted to talk to the most. That didn't matter. She continued to call. Continued to listen to the sarcasm that practically dripped in every syllable he uttered.

She left messages, but never apologized. The type of apology she owed him would never do over the phone.

So, Veronica stuck to the most banal of topics…

"_It's currently a sunny and mild 96 degrees here in good old Neptune. How's the weather where you are_?"

Gave him suggestions for inspirational quotes,

"_Work like you don't need the money. Dance like no one is watching. And love like you've never been hurt. That Mark Twain was a clever fellow. Must've been the sweet stache_."

"C'mon, girl, the movie's starting!"

But today when Veronica got the beep signaling her to begin chatting up an answering machine, she didn't bother. Pressed the 'end' button on her cell with a frustrated sigh and joined Wallace on the couch just in time for the opening credits of _Kill Bill_.

There was a knock on the door during the showdown at the House of Blue Leaves and Wallace got up to answer it.

"_This guy paid me five bucks to give these to a girl named Veronica_." The kid standing in the doorway looked him up and down with a smirk on his face. "_Your name Veronica_?"

He frowned. "Ha – ha, very funny. I'll take those," Wallace said snatching the tin box out of the young boy's hands. "Why don't you run along and go play in traffic somewhere."

When the teen shut the door, Veronica laughed. "Anyone ever tell you, you'll make a _great_ father someday?"

"Hey, if that kid takes my advice and finds a busy intersection, the world will thank me." Collapsing next to her, he thrust the box into her hands.

"What's this?"

He cocked a brow. "Who do I look like? John Edward? Open it."

Veronica couldn't help the smile that broke out on her lips at the sight of the chocolate chips cookies delicately nestled in bright, green and yellow tissue paper.

"Ooh, V's got a secret admirer who bakes," Wallace said, reaching into the box. "Ten bucks says this guy's not on the football team." Pausing, he pulled a face as he lifted up a cookie with a chunk clearly bitten out of it. "Although…_that's_ sick."

400 ml heavy cream  
100 g unsweetened chocolate squares  
50 ml coffee  
2 tablespoons sugar  
4 tablespoons cognac

"_And he fixed everything_?"

"Yep, nothing but cold air. It's like the Arctic in here. I'm sure there's nothing in this apartment that can't be frozen to my ass."

"_Veronica_…"

"I meant that hypothetically. There will be no lamp-to-ass experimentation of any kind, dad."

"_Well, that's good to hear_." A beat. "_The weatherman on channel six said it's the hottest day of the year_…"

"I, know…"

"_And if the air conditioner goes out again_…"

"If the vents begin to shoot steam and the faucets begin to pour sand, and I am on the very cusp of heat stroke, I promise you, I will crawl to the Fennel's on my hands and knees."

"_Crawling is a **little** over dramatic, honey_."

It was inevitable that on the hottest day of the year, the air conditioner in the Mars' apartment would choose to expel air that could only be considered cool if one was on the surface of the sun, or in the bowels of hell.

And naturally, Veronica hated to lie to her father but he had a lot more important things to worry about – getting better and getting the hell out of that hospital being at the top of the list, of course. She could sweat it out for a night or two.

Besides, after spending the last two weeks at Wallace's they had both come to the conclusion that if they wanted to have a little more to say in each other's yearbooks next term than 'have a great summer, and keep sweet', they needed a break.

When a handy bucket of ice and stripping down to her underwear and a tank top failed to help keep Veronica from practically raining sweat, she decided to go out for ice cream,

"Two scoops of chocolate in a cup, please."

And head down to the beach to maybe catch a passing breeze. She parked her rundown LeBaron next to the bright yellow Xterra.

Logan leaned casually against his gas-guzzling suv, concentrating on the strawberry sundae in his hands. His hair was longer – wavey – it elegantly curled around the top of his ears, and a goatee adorned his usually clean-shaven baby face. He smiled at her, nonchalantly, and licked his spoon clean of strawberry syurp.

"So, how's your summer been?"

Veronica chuckled as she got out of her car. "Paparazzi, bail jumpers, catching up _Days of Our Lives_. You know, the usual."

There was so much to say. So much that needed to be said; but for once, Veronica Mars and Logan Echolls decided to take a moment.

A moment to breathe... a moment to not think…

Dipping the spoon into her cup, Logan smiled warmly as he scooped the bit of chocolate ice cream into his mouth.

**The End**.


End file.
